


The Widower

by JadedCoral



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:19:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadedCoral/pseuds/JadedCoral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitchell likes to watch crap telly. Anders doesn't like Mitchell watching crap telly. Domestic issues arise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Widower

**Author's Note:**

> I think my brain just farted. So sorry.

One thing was clear. Things could not continue as they were.

For one, Anders was too young and unmarried to be a widow. While _technically_ Mitchell wasn’t alive to begin with, he had the tendency to become even more dead to the world come Thursday evenings, his eyes set on the television screen like his spirit was being absorbed into another dimension, leaving Anders alone for the length of the whole of an hour to live with his loss.

Inconveniently, Anders had discovered, that was also the exact time he felt the immense need to exchange sexual favours with his late not-husband. He _had_ of course politely expressed his need to get some cock right now thank you on multiple occasions during his time of mourning, to which Mitchell had failed to give a response other than a grunt of some sort or a wave of a hand in an attempt to either silence him or to make him move from out of the way.

“Once a week, for just an hour,” Mitchell tried to reason with him while riding him hard, keeping Anders’ hips at bay by clutching his strong thighs around them, caring for nothing else than taking his pleasure from the way he made Anders’ cock move in and out of him because this was angry-sex, the kind where Mitchell went _see this is me taking you in balls deep and enjoying it how does that make you feel_. And Anders fucking loves it, doesn’t he? He _loves_ it. “Can’t you give me a fucking break?”

No, Anders does not take breaks from fucking, and since Mitchell was selfish enough to ban him from having sex with other people, claiming that to be against the rules of the monogamous relationship to which Anders had agreed to commit to once upon a time when they had started dating, as well as giving him a cheerful smile and saying something along the lines of _I might kill you if you cheat on me I’m not saying I will but I might_ , Mitchell in exchange should be ready to provide him sex whenever Anders asked for it.

Much as he wanted to voice his opinion on the matter, all that came out was a strangled moan and a load of spunk which he more or less involuntarily shot up Mitchell’s arse, his body still going through the aftershocks of a wonderful orgasm when Mitchell tossed him to lie on his stomach and proceeded to suck marks onto his inner thighs and to lick him open from behind. And if Mitchell’s fingers found the cum leaking from himself and used it as makeshift lubrication while pushing his digits inside Anders to join his tongue, then Anders must have only cursed the blasted stamina of fucking vampires and not moaned helplessly from the filth of it all.

Bottom line, he never got to say his piece concerning his hardly frequent but still well-timed widowhood. Mitchell might have argued that they _did_ have sex, often, much, _too_ much, of mind-blowing quality, but see, Anders was a businessman and knew that time was money and he _knew_ his worth.

Which was why, coincidentally, he needed to have sex every Thursday at 10.30pm, for an hour straight.

Which was not happening, since to Mitchell, The Real Hustle always came first.

It was silly, it really was, but Anders did _selfish prick_ so much better than he did dealing with the feeling of not being wanted or coming in second on someone’s list of important things. And he was committed, wasn’t he, to this goddamn relationship Mitchell insisted they’d have because being what they are made it convenient and efficient and so out of this world and maybe, _maybe_ , because even though neither of them particularly preferred cock, they _do_ prefer each other.

So instead of getting laid, Anders tented to sulk every Thursday evening around 10.30pm for about an hour straight, sitting at a bar by his lonesome and watching all the fine fishes in the sea with a mournful _I could have had that I could have had that but now I can’t,_ because he’s being good and leaving one John Mitchell the fuck alone as the other wanted.

He even declared Friday an official office holiday to be celebrated by being hungover just so that he could stay in bed and glare at Mitchell in the morning with an aura of _yeah you go to work you fucker while I’ll just lay in bed all day and have a wank why don’t I_. It was all very satisfying if not for the slightly amused look Mitchell threw his way before leaving him to his own devices again and making him realise that this was hardly any better than being bested by crap television.

And that was how the bartender became to know him quite well, or if not him, then his drinks of choice and his reasons for drinking them and wasn’t he nice agreeing with Anders that _yes what an absolute dick that guy of yours of course he is_ while keeping the spirits pouring.

Dawn, of course, nagged at him for neglecting work and when Dawn was unhappy Ty was not pleased either. Mike was always in a sour mood when it came to Anders and Axl was hardly sharp enough to grasp the severity of his situation to offer any consolations.

The goddesses though. First finding it absurdly hilarious how Anders of all people had turned to cock, but upon seeing a shirtless Mitchell _because New Zealand is too damn hot how does anyone live here oh my god_ completely understanding how it had happened, now patted him on the back and flocked around him to show moral support for _gay_ Anders, being close and teasing and taking off their shirts because _it was all right now since you’re gay and everything_.

He couldn’t touch them, didn’t want to watch them, and so, Anders went home and talked to his fish instead, lamenting on the cruelness of the world where Mitchell refused to give him what was rightfully his and females flaunted with what he could not have.

All of the ignoring, nagging, dinking, flaunting and not getting any on Thursday evenings at 10.30pm continued on and on for two miserable months at least, making Anders seriously wonder if being in a relationship was like this then it was no wonder he had previously never really attempted to be in one.

That is until Mitchell sat next to him in the bar, receiving a displeased look from the bartender which Anders saw as _yeah you absolute prick you better make things up to him_ , but what really meant _you absolute prick are going to make my best customer stop drinking aren’t you._

“It has been brought to my knowledge,” the utter bastard started while casually leaning against the bar counter as if he didn’t feel the need to grovel before Anders’ feet while begging for forgiveness. “That we act like an old, married couple.”

“Why would I bother marrying a corpse?” Anders asked, knowing that it'd hurt but caring little about it. “If I wanted to become a widow I’d rather become one because of vigorous sex or through well-planned murder.”

There might have been the expression _drama queen_ hidden somewhere between Mitchell’s laughter, but even if Anders ever caught it, it must have slipped from his knowledge when Mitchell leaned against him like everything was all right in the world.

“Ty taught me how to record programs so that I can watch them later. Axl showed me a website I can watch The Real Hustle on, every episode, can you believe that! I even received all seasons of it on DVD via mail, along with a picture of you looking disdainfully at the naked breasts surrounding you. What on earth was that about?”

Anders missed a few seconds of his life after hearing what Mitchell had to say, refusing to be moved by how the people close to him had helped him to get laid in order to stop him from whining.

But then Mitchell’s arms were wrapped around him and he was saying things like _you know you’re always on the top of my to do list_ and _I’m sorry_ and _I love you_ because he’s Irish and to Mitchell it’s easy and natural to say things like that to Anders without a moment’s hesitation.

When they left the bar the bartender might have given Mitchell a bit tight look which made him comment on how nice it was that all these people were concerned about Anders’ wellbeing, to which Anders said nothing in return, only squeezing the hand in his a bit harder and smiling without an air of perverseness.

It was, after all, a Thursday evening, the clock had not yet stricken 11, and here he was, on the top of Mitchell’s to do list with his previous doubts about them lasting having no more room in his mind when Mitchell whispered promises into his ear that he could have all the cock he wanted once they were home and how that was a promise.

Moaning and rubbing against Mitchell all the way home, Anders made sure to cash those promises, afterwards lying in bliss and letting some embarrassing endearments slip from his mouth that made Mitchell smile no matter how ready he was to sleep.

“Me too,” Mitchell said back and reached out for Anders’ hand, squeezing it to reassure that though they were never going to get married and thus decreasing the chances of Anders ever being an actual widow, Mitchell still was, essentially, his.


End file.
